Here, in the land of illusions
where time is no longer measured by mere seconds,
but by the number of relentless waves crashing on the shore,
a child calls for help.
His voice is muffled by the swing of the necklaces;
the clicking of the jewels;
the shine of the artistry.
Things that cannot be overlooked overshadow the things that must not be.
Sun burns the skin of the fragile child, the sand singes the pads of his feet.
But the sting of the smile of the blissfully ignorant decimate his very soul.
His only hope lies in the shade of a single blue umbrella perched in the sand, listening to the ticking of the ocean.
There, another child sits and quietly weeps to her mother
of the injustices she cannot change.
Her tears, like the toys of the merchant child,
are a cry for help,
hoping to harmonize with the songs of the helpless,
that someone may hear
and give the child a quarter.

We're all immortal,
until something comes along
and kills us.

Some day,
when your face is wet with silent tears,
I'll cry.
Because of the pain you've endured,
and knowing that there will be more.
Because of the sadness you've seen,
and what you wish could be unseen.

Some day,
when your hands are calloused and worn,
I'll smile.
Because of the man you've become,
and the work you've done.
Because of the past you've had,
and the future ahead.

they ask me why i do it
why i sacrifice my time to it
i never know what to say
                                                      why does one breathe?
                                                      why does one eat?
                                                      why does one walk?
to survive.
to be fulfilled.
perhaps, to escape.

they ask me why it's so special
why i've devoted my life to it
i've decided upon an answer
                                                      why does one work?
                                                      why does one study?
                                                      why does one love?
to gain.
to strive.
perhaps, to stay alive.

they ask me why i love it so much
why i feed off of it
i finally know how to respond
                                                                                I write My Soul.
                                                                                If I didn't,
                                                                                I might not have a Soul
                                                                                At All.

With wings of muscle, they glide over the surface.
Flying towards glory and Gold.
Butterflies of the sea
Swooping, floating, sailing through the aquamarine.
Travelling as if through  space and time,
And life itself stops to admire and gaze.
Nothing can stop us.
Not the waves of the ocean, nor the storms of the world.
Because with the oxygen of the water,
We are unstoppable.
Wind, rocks, trees,
Are no match for the swell of pride and dignity
within in our chests.
On our backs, gazing at the sky,
Stroking grandeur with our outstretched feathers.
We liberate the world,
One sprint at a time.

My mom says she's afraid of herself;
          Of the monsters deep within her.
     They claw at her inside in the day,
And their screams reverberate in her mind in  the night.
          I can't imagine the fright of not knowing who you are.
     The internal darkness that grabs hold of her very being.
I can't imagine the pain of having to be careful around the one person
          You can’t escape.
                                                   Yourself.

She says she's fine.
          That there's nothing bothering her.
     Nothing haunting her in the day,
Nothing killing her in the night.
          But she can't just wish them away;
     Can't win the battle.
She can't help herself anymore.
          She's trapped inside herself.
                        With no one to free her from her greatest oppressor.
            Herself.